


in this life, and all the ones to come

by clokcwork_dragon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Deja Vu, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Era, twin byleths!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24576889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clokcwork_dragon/pseuds/clokcwork_dragon
Summary: Going on a date with somebody you just met is ill-advised; except if that someone is your reincarnated lover from two millenia ago, in that case you're encouraged to.(aka the fic in which Jeralt's life sucks, Seteth has been pining for way too long, and they're both all too willing to get drunk.)
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner/Seteth
Kudos: 39





	in this life, and all the ones to come

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I'll update Past Hauntings & New Beginnings soon, but in the meantime I wanted to take a little break from the shit that's been all of IRL, and write this cute lil' thing that's been in my mind for a while. I'm a hoe for reincarnation AUs, yes. But what I'm more of a hoe for, is reincarnation AUs in which one half of the ship dies and gets reincarnated, and the other just waits for that to happen because they're an undying mystical dragon-deity of sorts. Yeah, y'all get it.
> 
> Rated T for referenced sex scene, read at your own discretion.

Jeralt thinks working at a fast-food diner is…not the ideal job.

In all fairness he hadn’t always been like this: unemployed save for said diner, unshaved, rough around the ages and struggling to find time to even consider anything else than his job and his two children. But well, then Sitri died, leaving him to raise the twins on his own. Bylark kept getting sick, so the medical bills ranked up and they had to sell their old, comfortable house, to move in a stuffy apartment in the middle of the city. Byleth wanted to go to college and be a history teacher just like him, and he couldn’t possibly begrudge her. But that meant more bills, and having to make ends meet every month became all the tougher. To top it off, he was fired from his old job in the Museum of Adrestian History, and his current wage was barely enough to pay off the family’s debts and keep them adequately fed.

Needless to say, life was hard. He looked older than he actually was, probably angrier than he felt, and unapproachable. The owner of the diner had been an old friend, so she’d allowed him to stay no matter how scared the customers seemed at the sight of his face, but Jeralt had a feeling the situation wouldn’t last if parents with children kept walking away from the shop as soon as they identified him as the waiter.

At least, more often than not adult patrons would make up for the lack of a younger audience. The diner was an old-fashioned one with live music and song every Friday night, which served to rack up enough cash from those interested in such things. The songstress, Manuela, was certainly endowed with a voice (and… other things) that would charm even the stringiest of customers into the shop.

That, of course, meant more customers on Friday. Jeralt didn’t particulary mind, used to the routine by now, especially since it usually came with a generous tip. He’d managed to save up enough money to buy a couple of nice books for his kids the past month, with some money to spare. If every month kept being as good as that one, he might be able to fix the disaster that was his and the twins’ lives soon enough.

He glanced up at the clock; six p.m., which meant Manuela would appear on stage in about thirty minutes, and in about forty the place would be packing. He should make sure everything was in order but, as he was about to head to the kitchen, he heard the familiar sound of the doorbell ringing as a customer walked in.

Jeralt frowned, his back still turned to the sitting area as he was bringing up a stack of freshly-washed trays. Couldn’t people read the “CLOSED” sign?

He turned around with a few displeased words forming on his lips already, but a look at the newcomer was enough to silence him immediately after.

The man must have been a few years younger than him; dressed in black suit pants, an immaculately ironed white shirt and a light grey tie. But what caught Jeralt’s attention the most and shut him up on time, was the man’s forest-green hair pulled into a short ponytail at the back of his head, and his striking emerald eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses.

Green hair and eyes… fuck, that was definitely one of Rhea’s brothers.

“…Can I help you?” Jeralt muttered stiffly as he recovered from the shock, leaning on the counter. Of course, he couldn’t shoo his boss’ brother away.

The other man smiled a little; a reserved but well-meant gesture.

“I’m afraid I’m just too early. I won’t bother you since you’re not even open yet, though I would appreciate it if I could speak to Rhea. Is she here?”

Jeralt blinked. “Uh… sure. Lemme grab her.”

He circled the counter, heading to the small staircase at the back of the shop; it led to the apartment above, that Rhea had transformed into her office. She only ever came on Fridays and the weekends, and he’d heard her walk in earlier.

“Take a seat while I’m fetching her.” Jeralt gestured towards the vacant sitting area, then trotted up the stairs with a hand cupped around his mouth.

“Boss! There’s somebody here that wants to see you.” He didn’t mention anything about brothers. Clearly that was the case, but at the last moment he realised it would probably seem rude to assume. And he didn’t want to get fired.

In any case, Rhea did appear, walking elegantly down the staircase. Dressed in her black pencil skirt and jacket, with her hair pulled in an intricate braid, she looked like the ideal businesswoman.

(Jeralt might have fallen in love with her, once. But as things were, all he wanted from her was nothing more than to not be fired. And perhaps a teeny-tiny raise.)

He watched as the woman walked into the shop, her face immediately lighting up in a reserved smile.

“Seteth! How wonderful it is to see you again.” She walked up to the green-haired man, pulling him into a quick embrace and kissing his cheek. “I wasn’t expecting you today. Did something happen?”

“Oh, nothing really. I just had some free time, and Manuela’s been dying to get me to see her perform live.”

_Seteth_ , Jeralt thought while shifting through the information he had gathered from Rhea all these months. If his memory wasn’t betraying him, he was the youngest of her brothers. He did look a bit older than her, though. While Rhea’s face seemed unmarked by time, Seteth’s bore a few wrinkles here and there, and his eyes looked somewhat sunken into his skull, as if he hadn’t gotten a proper night of sleep in weeks.

_Still_ , Jeralt mused; he was quite handsome.

_Maybe stop thinking of your employer’s younger brother as_ handsome _, if you want to keep your job you monumental idiot. You barely even met him._

Deciding to push these thoughts to the back of his mind before he made a fool of himself, Jeralt began to walk back to his station behind the counter. However, Rhea’s voice caught up to him.

“Jeralt, I know we’ll be opening soon but, would it be alright if you kept my brother some company until then? I really need to get back up before my accountant decides to escape through the window.”

She’d voiced it like a question, but Jeralt knew he wouldn’t have any room to refuse. Besides, he did think the accountant, Hanneman von Essar, would likely set the shop on fire if he was kept from Manuela’s performance. For two mortal enemies, the two really did seem very attracted to each other.

He sighed. “Sure, Catherine washed the dishes earlier and I assume Shamir will be here soon to help around. So why not.”

Rhea nodded and offered him a polite smile; watching her side by side with her brother, Jeralt felt that while they looked similar, there was something… _different_ between them. Rhea’s smile was more aloof, a courtesy rather than something that came out of her heart. Seteth’s smile, on the other hand, seemed genuine and well-meant even if the light didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He wondered why that was.

As Rhea walked back upstairs, Jeralt pulled a chair next to where Seteth had opted to sit, and plopped on it.

“So,” he started, before his confidence would have time to be hindered by uncomfortable silence “Rhea’s mentioned you before.”

For a moment, he thought that was probably the dumbest thing he could have said. Seteth, however, only looked at him curiously.

“Has she? I can only assume she’s only ever made a fool of me.”

It had clearly been stated as a joke, something a brother would say about his sister. Yet for the briefest of seconds, Jeralt had the uneasy feelings that Rhea _would_ have been able to do that. And not in the friendly-sibling-rivalry way.

“Uh, no, not really.” Was all he said in the end. “Just mentioned you were the youngest… that you had a daughter, and that you like to fish. Though, and that’s confidential- she told me you were not very good at it.”

He’d hoped the joke would help to break the ice, and so it did. Seteth let out a soft, almost tired laugh. 

“She’d be right. I enjoy fishing, but the occasion of me catching anything is very rare. And yes, I do have a little girl.” His face softened as he mentioned that, his expression overcome with affection. “Her name is Flayn, she’s my pride and joy.”

Jeralt grinned- that sentiment was something he could relate to.

“She must be a star if she’s anything like her father.”

_Why did you say that you dull-headed oaf-_

Seteth just smiled, a light shade of pink colouring his face. “Why, you’re too kind. Do you have any children, Jeralt?”

“I- Oh, yeah I do.” He was immensely grateful for the change of topic. “Twins, actually. Bylark and Byleth. They’re a real hustle to deal with but, you know. Can’t help but love ‘em anyway.”

“Indeed.” Seteth’s eyes fell on Jeralt’s hand, spotting his wedding band. “And your wife?”

Shit- right, that. He couldn’t really bear it to remove the wedding band, it would have felt like betraying Sitri. And yet, he suddenly felt all too conscious about it. He made a grumbling noise at the back of his throat, looking away.

“Dead.” He muttered, more aggressively than intended. He looked up, ready to apologise, but all he saw on Seteth’s face was sympathy and… and something else.

“I’m deeply sorry for asking.” The other man said softly. “I… I understand your pain.”

Jeralt blinked. “…You do?”

“Yes. As fate would have it… I also lost my wife, a while ago.”

Well. That was… awkward, to say the least. And one hell of a grim, tragic coincidence. Jeralt wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

He cleared his throat, deciding to try and lighten the mood.

“Would you look at that. Two single widowers.” He chuckled bitterly. “Fate can kick you in the ba- _face_ in really strange ways.”

Seteth nodded. The kind smile had somewhat returned to his face, but the pain was still there behind his eyes. “Truly. Who knows what the Goddess has in mind.”

The rest of the evening rolled away with no more surprises. Jeralt kept Seteth company until Manuela burst in like a hurricane, chattering excitedly when she saw Seteth, and Jeralt was allowed to go back to his work. Shamir came in a while later, too, and so did other customers. Manuela began to sing, the spirits livened up, and as per usual the diner filled up to the brim. He was too busy serving and taking new orders, and passing roses from the patrons to the songstress on stage, yet he’d managed to steal a couple of glances towards Seteth. The man sat alone, perhaps the only one in the entire diner to have done so; and while his eyes looked to Manuela, and he clapped at the end of every song, Jeralt could tell his mind was elsewhere.

_What a strange man._

Strange indeed. For as the diner finally began to empty for the night, and Manuela drew to her dressing room, Seteth stood up and walked up to the bar.

“Jeralt?”

The waiter turned around, arms laden with dirty dishes and glasses. He and Shamir would have to stay overtime to clean everything up.

“Can I help? Oh- right, Rhea told me that you don’t have to pay for anything, ‘s on the house.”

“Well that’s kind of her. But that’s not why I’m here.” The man looked away, in what Jeralt belatedly realised was nervousness. “Are you free tomorrow evening? Perhaps we could go out for some coffee. I’d like to get to know you more, if that’s alright with you.”

For a moment, Jeralt thought he had misheard.

Was _Seteth_ asking _him_ out?

“Uh…” he had to think of an answer, and quick “Yeah- sure. I mean, I’d be glad to do that. Here?”

Seteth’s eyes briefly darted towards the staircase that led to Rhea’s office, and Jeralt caught the message. “We could meet in front of the statue of Ionius. Is seven alright with you?”

“Sure.” Jeralt agreed. “I’ll… see you tomorrow then?”

Seteth nodded with a small smile, and before Jeralt could say anything else, he bid him goodnight and walked out.

An hour later on his drive home, Jeralt could still not believe this.

Was this alright? Should he go out with a man he’d just met? Hell- what about Sitri? She was dead, of course, but so was Seteth’s wife. If he didn’t have any reservations, then why should Jeralt?

And then of course there was the possibility that this wasn’t even a date. Maybe Seteth just wanted to remain friends. Maybe he even wanted to use him against Rhea, somehow. By now he could tell the two siblings weren’t exactly trusting of each other. Perhaps Jeralt was making things up.

…then again, perhaps this _was_ a date. Would Jeralt _like_ it to be?

Would he?

… _Shit._

* * *

It most definitely _had_ been a date.

At first they’d just walked around the central park of Adrestia with a cup of coffee each. They just talked leisurely; Seteth talked about his work (he worked as a professor in one of Fodlan’s most prestigious universities), about Flayn, about all the places the two of them had been together. He mentioned his wife had died of a sudden illness, and Jeralt told him that Sitri had been hit by a car, but other than that they hadn’t spoken about the dead. In return, Jeralt had gone on and on about the twins, their ambitions, how Bylark had to be homeschooled because of how sickly he was, and of how Byleth was attending Aegir University.

Then Jeralt just _had_ to be an idiot and suggest they went for a drink or two.

For some reason, Seteth had also decided to be irresponsible, and agreed.

And a couple of hours (and a lot more alcohol) later, the two were in Jeralt’s apartment, making out so fervently one would think they were sucking out each other’s soul.

Thankfully Bylark was staying at a friend’s, and Byleth was out and would probably only be back after four a.m. earliest. Which was good, because last thing Jeralt wanted to explain to any of his kids, was why he was on top of the very drunk, half-undressed brother of his employer.

Not that he himself was any better. If Seteth was drunk, Jeralt had positively achieved enlightenment with how many shots he’d downed. And while Seteth’s tie and shirt were only half-undone, Jeralt’s own shirt was already on the floor beside the bed.

The teeny-tiny centimetre of brain inside his head that had somehow _not_ been submerged in alcohol yet, was screaming to him that this was wrong. He’d met Seteth exactly a day ago, both of them had children and deceased wives to whom they still were very loyal, and Jeralt _would very much like to not get fucking fired thank you._ And yet as Seteth’s hands ran down his spine, leaving scratches on his back as he moaned into their kiss, he decided that Angry Boss Rhea, Sitri’s Ghost and the incoming hangover were tomorrow-Jeralt’s problems. Tonight-Jeralt just wanted _this,_ whatever it was.

Slowly, clumsily, his fingers undid Seteth’s tie and began to work with the buttons of his shirt. As soon as the damned thing was out of the way, Jeralt leaned down, fervently kissing Seteth’s exposed collarbone, his beard leaving scratches down the latter’s pale skin. Seteth moaned even _louder,_ clinging to Jeralt as if his life depended on it.

“Y’like this?” Jeralt slurred, his hand gently caressing the other man’s abdomen and coming to rest on top of his belt.

“Yes. Jeralt…” Seteth angled himself against Jeralt’s body, letting out a needy whimper. “ _Please_.”

Well, that was about all the encouragement Jeralt had needed. Soon the rest of their clothes were out of the way, and Seteth proved to be very loud indeed. Not that Jeralt himself fell behind. Lesson learned: years of repression lead to _excellent_ sex.

* * *

Jeralt woke up the next morning feeling as if he’d been ran over by a truck. And then a larger, heavier truck. And then thrown under the wheels of a jeep for good measure. And then- well, point taken.

Memories of the previous night were foggy at best, but the warm, solid presence next to him served as a very fast reminder of at least the basics. Slowly, his mind began to piece things together.

_He and Seteth went out, got so drunk it was a miracle they made it home, and then… well. They had sex. And now it was morning. Which meant-_

Oh, fuck. Byleth was going to have a lot of questions.

If the Goddess was benevolent, though, his daughter would have come home about as smashed as he had. Perhaps she wouldn’t wake up until much later. And in all honesty, Jeralt didn’t feel any sort of guilt. Well- he felt a _little_ bit guilty. There was Sitri’s memory, promising at least a month of endless self-inflicted guilt-tripping. But Sitri was dead- Seteth was very much alive, and Jeralt was feeling a strange, almost supernatural pull to him. Almost as if..

… _almost as if they’d met before._

He remembered, now. Last night, whispering “I missed you so” to the other man, in the middle of the act. And Seteth pleading him to not leave again. _Again._ What did that mean?

There was the possibility that both of them were so piss-drunk that they thought they were with their wives again. But- they’d called each other’s names even right before falling asleep, which meant that they hadn’t mistaken one another for anybody else. So that theory went right out of the window.

But then…?

“Jeralt…?”

Jeralt blinked, groaning as his head threatened to explode when he tried to sit up. “…Mornin’.”

“Good morning- oh. _Oh Holy Mother of Seiros,_ what time is it?!” Seteth sprang up, hissing and bringing both hands to his head as his own hangover hit. “Goddess help me, Flayn will think I’m dead-“

“You messaged Rhea last night, I’m sure she’ll have notified the girl.” As soon as that memory came back to him, Jeralt realised he was probably out of a job. Well- at least it was worth it. “God, I’m too old to be drinking like this.”

“Likewise.” Seteth sighed. Evidently relieved now that he knew his daughter wouldn’t worry herself to death, he collapsed back to the mattress and nestled next to Jeralt. “I… I’m so sorry for staying, Jeralt, I’m sure your children will have so many questions. You can tell them it was my fault.”

“What- no.” Jeralt laughed tiredly, pulling Seteth close and burying his nose in the other man’s green hair. “Don’t worry your pretty head about that, ‘kay? Byleth has brought people in too, I don’t think she’ll judge. And Bylark isn’t here yet.”

Seteth seemed to relax a little. “I see. Well… I do hope you don’t have to deal with any sort of problems because of me.”

“Nah, don’t worry. Well-“ He chuckled “Rhea will have probably fired me fifty times over by now, but I suppose I can find another job.”

“She won’t.” There was a sudden coldness seeping into Seteth’s voice; determination, as if he was already angry at his sister. Jeralt blinked.

“Don’t worry about it yet, anyway.” He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. The sense of déjà vu, and this fierce, inexplicable pull he felt towards Seteth, were back at full swing. “Say… Seteth? Have we met before?”

Seteth remained quiet, and Jeralt felt his muscles tensing. “So… you’re truly feeling it too?”

Oh. Oh shit, he wasn’t the only one then. That was… weird.

“Kinda? I mean, I distinctly remember saying I missed you, yesterday. Might have been the booze though and- by Sothis, where the absolute _hell_ did you get _this_?”

At night, in the dark and in the middle of their drunk stupor, Jeralt hadn’t had the chance to study his partner’s naked body. Now, however, in the half-light slipping through the blinds, he did. And he stared at the vertical scar across Seteth’s chest, so deep and so savage. Seteth blushed, and looked away.

“…There was a battle. Long ago. _So very long ago,_ Jeralt.”

Jeralt startled. “Are you still drunk? There hasn’t been a war in Fodlan for over.. a… millenia…”

He blinked slowly, something rising at the back of his mind. A memory? Some kind of knowledge?

He studied Seteth’s face; yes, he did look older than he was. But not by mere years, no. By _aeons._ As if he wasn’t thirty years old. As if…

The memory rose stronger now; _a rainy sky, a girl with red hair, a dagger. His… daughter’s face?! And then, nothing but darkness._

Jeralt whipped around to look at Seteth. His hand came up tentatively, to rest on top of the latter’s cheek, his thumb brushing against the sharp line of his cheekbone.

“Seteth… _Cichol._ ”

Seteth’s eyes gleamed with what Jeralt presumed to be unshed tears. Both his hands came up to cup Jeralt’s face.

“I promised, Jeralt. That I’d find you again in the next life. And… I did, didn’t I?”

This was absurd. They were probably still drunk, or they were losing their minds, or both.

And yet, _he knew._ He’d known, from the moment he’d seen Seteth’s scar. Hell, maybe part of him had known even earlier than that, when the man had first walked into the diner.

Jeralt blinked away his own tears.

“…You did, damn you, you stubborn flying lizard.” A choked, wet chuckle came out of his mouth. “All this time, you’ve been alone…?”

Seteth just leaned his head on Jeralt’s shoulder, choking out, “ _so lonely_ ”. Instinctively, Jeralt held him tight against his chest.

“Well, I’m here not aren’t I? I won’t leave you again.” His mind still churned with all the memories that were beginning to resurface; the monastery, the war, Rhea, the Crests… _Hell_ , did that mean there was still magic somewhere in the world?

…Perhaps he’d ask when his hangover subsided. _One life-altering revelation at a time, please._

Seteth pulled back for a short while, to smile at him. He still looked old, but now there was light returning in his eyes.

“Flayn has missed you, and Byleth. She’ll be overjoyed to see you both.”

Jeralt couldn’t help but grin. “I imagine she must have grown by now? Even for a dragon’s standards.”

“She’s a full adult now, yes. Though… she’ll always be my little girl. That won’t ever change.”

“Goddess help her, you must have been an absolute pain in the ass all these years.” Jeralt laughed. “You two can finally live as father and daughter now, then?”

“Yes, finally.” Seteth shook his head. “We’re… finally free. And now I’ve found you. I… cannot believe it.”

“That makes two of us.” Jeralt stood up, throwing on his trousers and the nearest sweater he could get his hands on. “I, for one, have had enough of past lives, epic wars, saints and _totally fictional flying, fire-breathing reptiles._ ”

He winked, before resuming.

“What do you say we go get breakfast at your sister’s diner? I’m sure Rhea will be _delighted._ ”

Seteth blinked, his expression much akin to that of a confused puppy. For a moment, he didn’t reply. The next, however, his face broke into a free, tender smile.

“I would love that, Jeralt.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's unbeta-ed as shit, but it's 23:15 and I am DYING squirtle, so I hope you guys will forgive any outrageous mistakes. Hope y'all enjoyed it, kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> (and no, Jeralt did not, in fact, get fired. Rhea actually gave him a raise for getting her brother out of his 2000-year-long depression).


End file.
